#if this is bad no it isnt i havent edited it at all sjfjddjdj
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may i interest you in some scarian makeouts
Listen. We were all thinking it when Grian was screaming to Scar about starting resistances. Also technically this isnt even finished bc i wanted to put a proper opener on it before posting but,, i have unfortunately been too busy to sit down and write so i am throwing this into the void as is like meat pumpkins in the scarian enclosure. Mwah mwah please enjoy the food my fellow soldiers
"Scar, if you don't do something right now, I'm gonna start a resistance," Grian snaps. There's a tightness in his chest begging for release, to snap the building tension with the thunderous clap of TNT. The look he aims at Scar is nothing short of pleading, begging for some kind of intervention.
Scar, for his part, looks startled. "Um—" he stammers, eyes flicking over Grian helplessly.
Unfortunately, Grian doesn't have time for helplessness. "Scar, do something!"
"Do what?" Scar yelps in return; he's clearly out of his depth, fumbling for his bow and dropping it to the ground with a nervous clatter. "What do you— Grian, I don't even know what you want me to do here—"
"Just stop me before I do something I'm gonna regret!" Grian says desperately, and suddenly, a familiar glint flickers to life in Scar's eyes.
It's the bad idea glint. The I'm about to make this situation worse, glint. The I'm going to steal the enchanter, I'm going to run for mayor, I'm going to strip everyone's copper glint. Grian can't truly say he's surprised to see it.
But Scar only snaps his fingers. "Okay, okay, I've got it! You just— um. You— you know what, you just stay there, I'll come to you."
And before Grian can even process whatever that means, Scar is pacing forward, closing the distance between them with rapid, ground-eating strides. All thoughts of royal emeralds and resistances slide right out of Grian's head as Scar crowds into his personal space.
"Uh, Scar," Grian says, suddenly breathless for quite a few reasons, "um. Whatcha doing?"
"Distracting you!" Scar replies with far too much cheerful menace, then grabs Grian by the collar and reels him in for a kiss.
It's such an abrupt motion that Grian flinches before they can make contact, an electric shock running up his spine. But Scar chases that distance like a hunting hound, both hands coming up to frame Grian's face and hold him still— and then his lips are catching against Grian's, wind-chapped and gentle. Insistent. A warm, solid slide against his own, languidly coaxing them open.
Another thrill of electricity runs through him, and after a moment's hesitation, Grian leans into it, eyes sliding shut as Scar's teeth catch briefly on his bottom lip. He's already fumbling for purchase— his hands flutter, trailing over Scar's arms before climbing to his shoulders, wreathing into his hair, and—
Grian tugs, just a bit too mean, and Scar's shocked hiss falls directly between Grian's teeth. If Scar wants to turn this into a distraction, he'll play along— but Grian's not going to make it easy for him.
"Oh, you are gonna get it for that, mister," Scar murmurs against his mouth, muffled and low, sweet as buckwheat honey. Grian shudders; every point of contact between them is kindling into a fire, spreading light and heat through his veins. He's swimming in it, crystalizing from the inside out, nothing but an empty, weightless cloud inside his mind. Scar's hands slide from his jaw to thread in his hair, and without warning, his head is gently tilted to the side.
Grian sucks in a sharp breath as Scar leans down and folds a delicate kiss into the triangle of skin between his jaw and ear. When he pulls back, the ghost of a breath fans cool air across it, wringing another shiver out of Grian's spine.
Scar leans down again; this time the kiss he presses to Grian's neck is not delicate. Instead, it's borders on a bite, nipping at sensitive skin until it begins to redden. Scar drags his tongue flat against what's no doubt a blossoming bruise, and Grian exhales in soft, trembling huffs that paint the air around them. Eyes closed, lips parted, a hazy glow curling beneath his sternum: Scar peppers his neck in kisses and bites, none quite as hard as the first, but intense nonetheless.
Finally, Scar dips to press one last, chaste kiss against his neck before pulling back and catching his lips once more. It's a faster slide this time, more demanding; Grian melts into it, curling his hands further into Scar's hair, cupping the back of his head to pull him closer. Scar's body is one warm line against him, an arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him close, even closer than they'd already been before. If this is drowning, Grian thinks, then he'll gladly welcome the floodwaters. If kissing Scar makes him this deliriously lightheaded, Grian will drown as many times as he's allowed.
Eventually, the pace slows. Scar swipes a thumb against his cheek, breaking the kiss only to dive back in for another, shorter one. And again. Again. Grian hums absently, a tuneless, crackling note that catches in his throat as the kisses between them taper off into gentle pecks, a closeness neither of them want to fracture.
It ends with both of their foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, lips red and kiss-swollen. Grian licks his absently; they tingle, gently bruised, and the noise that trickles out of his throat without permission sounds wrecked.
"Good distraction?" Scar mutters absently. The hand around his waist has abandoned its post in favour of stroking Grian's hair. It's a soothing, lulling motion, and Grian fights the hypnotic rhythm of it.
"Distraction?" he manages to rasp after a moment.
A beat. Then Scar giggles, a bright, soap-bubble sound that floats in the sunshine around them. "Well, that sounds like a pretty good review of the Goodtimes Distraction Services to me," he says, and pulls away with visible reluctance. His eyes crinkle at the corners; he looks fond. "You need anymore resisting against resistances, you know where to find me."
Grian lets him go with a shiver and a dirty look for the cool air that rushes in between them. Despite the chill, though, he feels warmed through. "Yeah," he says, lifting one hand to touch the mark high on his neck. It throbs; he presses down just to feel it. "Yeah, I guess I do. Tha— is it weird to say thanks, Scar?"
"Only if you don't buy me dinner on the first date," Scar replies breezily, and Grian chokes on a laugh.
"I'll write that down," he says dryly, and joins Scar as he meanders back toward Scarland's Main Street, all thoughts of resisting far behind him.
#scarian#goodtimeswithscar#grian#hermitcraft#hermitshipping#gtws#mcyt#shouting speaks#my snippets#if this is bad no it isnt i havent edited it at all sjfjddjdj#but i do plan on doing that and adding an opener and sticking it on ao3. eventually#new job taking up all me brainpower WAUGH#mcyt fic#txt
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